Needs
by Lover's Reason
Summary: Gillian needs something. Cal helps out.
1. Chapter 1

Not my best work, but the plotline wouldn't leave me alone.

Warning: Smut. Duh.

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><p>They were fighting again. Gillian sat on the couch in Cal's office, thumb and finger gripping the bridge of her nose, trying to cope with the anger she was feeling. She really shouldn't be reacting this way, she knew that, but her temper was short these days and he just got on her nerves like no one else in the world.<p>

"So are you saying it's not your fault?" she asked.

"No, I'm saying that you're overreacting."

Anger flashed through her. "Overreacting? Cal, you jeopardized the financial future of this company. Again."

"So what else is new? I do that all the time; you've never stormed into my office in the middle of the night to rail on me about it before. If I didn't know better I'd think you just needed a shag," he said, goading her. She felt another flash of anger, this one much stronger than the last, but before she could retaliate, he said, "Oh." His whole demeanor changed, went from pissed off to prying in a second. He plopped down beside her on the couch and gestured at her face. "That was interesting. I really didn't mean for that to hit so close to the mark. How long's it been, then?"

"Cal," she said, with a warning in her voice.

"A month?" He studied her face. "No, longer. Three months? Six?" A flicker on her face told him he had hit it spot on. "You've only been divorced since September."

"And were you and Zoe having sex until the day you got divorced?"

"You really don't want to know the answer to that, love. So, six months. No wonder you're so bloody tense."

"I really don't see how that's any of your business." She tried to sound angry, but more than anything she wanted to know where he was going with this. She knew she should leave. Walk out of there right now, because talking about her sex life, or lack thereof, with Cal was an absolutely terrible idea. But something on his face was stopping her. Usually in intense moments like this, his eyes would wander all over her face, flicking to her mouth and cheeks and forehead to pick up any minute indication of her thoughts. But right now his eyes were locked on hers. There was something he wanted her to see in _his_ face, more than he wanted to see anything in hers. He scooted very close to her, putting an arm on the back of the couch.

"It doesn't have to be this way, darling." And suddenly she saw it in his face, the intention he had wanted to show her. Her heart began racing: from arousal, yes, but also a deep, gripping terror.

"We can't, Cal." They couldn't. Sex with Cal would be a mistake. Because they couldn't separate the sex from the feelings, and they couldn't separate feelings from a relationship, and a relationship with Cal Lightman was guaranteed to go down in flames.

"I'm not talking about us shagging, Gill." She wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but she had seen the intention in his eyes, their faces inches apart. Something else was coming.

"Then what are you talking about?" She took a deep, shaky breath in to calm her nerves, but that turned out to be a mistake. He smelled nice. Clean and spicy. And she knew there was no way he could miss the way her pupils were dilating.

"There's something you need, Gill. And I can give it to you. I want to give it to you." His hand had fallen to her knee. "Let me get you off. And you can walk out of here and we'll forget it ever happened."

"We won't."

"We will. I swear to you, I will never bring it up again. I just want to make you come." He watched her mouth fall slightly open, both in surprise, and intense arousal. "D'you like that?" he asked as he slid his hand up her leg, just under the hem of her skirt. "Sweet little Foster like a bit of dirty talk?" He had stopped moving his hand, waiting for some response from her. Though he'd never admit it, he was scared too. Scared she'd run, or push him away. But then, almost without meaning to, she uncrossed her legs. Taking that as his sign, he pushed his hand higher up her thigh, until his fingers were brushing her leg just millimeters from her underwear. "Tell me you haven't imagined it. Imagined us. I do. I imagine what it would feel like to touch you, to be inside you. I imagine what you would sound like when you came." He was still waiting for her, waiting to hear her say yes. He needed confirmation that this was what she wanted.

"Please," whispered Gillian. He grinned.

"Please what, Gill?"

"Please touch me, Cal."

He didn't need telling twice. His fingers pushed her adorably chaste cotton panties aside and stroked her labia, coming up to circle her clit. Her head fell back against his arm, eyes closed, as his thumb made circles on her nub. His other fingers dipped down, and he groaned when he felt how wet she was.

"You are just the sexiest creature alive, d'you know that? Never wanted anyone like I want you." He pushed into her, and she cried out. It felt so good. She had always imagined that Cal would be a good lover, when he wanted to be. When you could see every microexpression of pleasure, her reaction to your every move, then you always knew what your partner wanted. Always knew exactly what was working for her, and to what degree. And Cal was only using one hand, barely touching her otherwise, and it was still amazing. Before too long, she gripped his arm tightly, just on the brink.

And he stopped. Or, didn't stop all the way. But he slowed down, drew her back from the edge. "Cal!" she cried out, desperate.

"Patience, love. Best moment of my life, here, don't want it to be over too fast."

"Best moment of your life?"

"Well, second-best," he amended, because nothing could have beat the day he became a father and both of them knew that. But since bringing Emily up at a time like this wasn't really going to do anything for the mood, Cal went on. "The way you feel, Gill – beyond my wildest dreams, it is." His fingers were just stroking her labia now. Teasing again. "You know, I wasn't totally truthful before."

"I'm shocked," said Gillian, surprised she could still muster up some sarcasm even in this state.

"Oi, just for that," he said, and took his hand away from her entirely. Before she even had time to protest, he slid his hand under her, and his other arm dropped down to grip her around the middle, and he shifted her so she was sitting between his legs, back against his chest. Now that Cal had learned what she liked, he didn't need to see her face anymore. And he had something – bigger – that he wanted to convey to her.

Gillian gasped at what she felt when he pulled her against himself. She had expected an erection, but this… Even through his jeans she could tell he was huge. Huge and rock hard. His fingers were pressing her clit again, and she cried out from the sudden surge of pleasure, digging her nails into his legs.

"Do you feel what you do to me, Gillian? How much I want you?" He bent his head down to kiss the side of her neck, letting his stubble scrape the sensitive skin there. She leaned her head back against his shoulder to give her more access, glad that he had gone back to touching her. His fingers worked furiously, and his mouth too, sucking and nipping, until she was at the brink yet again.

And yet again, he backed off. She groaned, irritated that her orgasm had been stolen away from her a second time. "Caaaallll…" she complained.

"Aye, you're losing track of the point here."

"Which is?"

"I wasn't truthful, remember?" His lips were brushing the shell of her ear, his fingers had gone back to gentle touches, and at that moment she didn't give a damn if every word he'd said had been a lie.

But clearly he wasn't going to move on unless she played along, so she asked, "About what?"

"Well, I said that after this was over we'd forget it ever happened." Gillian tensed. She was afraid Cal was about to say something that would ruin what they where doing. "Oh, no, darling, don't worry, I wasn't lying about never mentioning it. Far as our friendship goes, this-" he applied infuriatingly brief pressure to her clit, making her cry out, "never happened. But I won't ever forget." He brought his free hand up to her neck, his thumb brushing her jaw. Later, when she played the events of this night over in her mind, she would realize he was gauging her pulse and skin temperature, to see if what he was about to say next would excite or disgust her. "When I get home tonight, I'm going to take this hand-" he fluttered the fingers that had been brushing her labia, "and I'm going to touch myself." Cal felt her heart rate quicken, felt a blush across her neck. He heard the sharp gasp of surprise, followed by the shallow breathing of intense arousal. He smiled.

"You really do like a bit of dirty talk, don't you, love? Well," he went on, his voice husky, "I'm going to go home, and I'm going to go over every second of this night in my head. And my cock's going to get hard. As hard as it is right now," he pushed his hips forward to punctuate the statement, "and I'm going to take this hand and stroke my cock, thinking about you. I'm going to wank with you in my head."

Gillian thought she might combust from arousal. She'd never been so turned on in her life. Or so frustrated, because he still wasn't _really_ touching her. She squirmed, trying to push her hips into his hand. She even moved one of her own hands down to cover his through her skirt and _make_ him touch her harder. But she only got a second of relief before his other hand put a stop to that.

"Aye, none of that. You asked for my help, love; we're going to do this my way. It'll be worth it, I promise." Gillian whimpered, but stopped fighting him. "That's my girl, now, what was I saying? Oh, yeah, I'm going to wank and think about you. Wouldn't be the first time, darling. Or even the hundredth. But this time is going to be special. Because now, I know. I don't have to imagine what kind of sounds you make when you're turned on." He applied pressure to her clit yet again, eliciting one of those sounds. "I won't have to wonder just how tight you are," he pushed a finger inside of her, "I'll know. Sure, some things I'll still have to imagine, like what you'd feel like sliding up and down my cock. Or what your breasts look like," he murmured, angling his head down to look at the aforementioned cleavage. "But it'll be so much better than it ever was before. And when I come, your name is going to be on my lips. Just like my name will be on yours in just a few minutes."

"Cal- _please_."

"Alright, love," he said, his tone changing from seductive to tender. Then he went after her. His fingers pumped in and out of her, his thumb abusing her clit. She tilted her head back against his shoulder again, and he watched her face, watched her bite her lip as her climax approached again. "It's okay, darling, nobody's here. Scream all you like." His other arm held her tight to him as he pressed his face into her hair, curling his fingers inside her at exactly the right angle. "Come on, Gillian. Let me hear it." And then her orgasm hit her like a ton of bricks. Bricks made of lightning.

"Cal!" she shouted, arching her back and pushing her ass into his crotch. He groaned, both at the feeling, and at the look of bliss on her face. He had never seen anything more beautiful. And suddenly, despite the joy and desire he was feeling, a pang of sadness shot through him. Because he knew he would never see it again.

His fingers were still inside her when she finally came down from her earth-shattering climax. When he had finally coaxed the last tremor from her body, Cal gently removed his fingers. Slowly, without a word, he repositioned her underwear, drew his hand out from under her skirt, and spread it modestly back over her lap. He looked down at her, still with her eyes closed, panting. His other arm still had a tight grip on her, which he was loath to release. He knew he only had a few moments left before she was gone for good, and he savored every bit of closeness.

"Can you stand, love?"

She let out a deep exhale, and leaned forward to stand on shaky legs. The movement made her press against his erection again, and she blushed. She noticed, gratefully, that he didn't make a noise when it happened. He had no intention of guilting her into returning the favor. She was glad, because she felt guilty enough as it was. When she had taken a step forward, he stood too. She turned to face him, feeling like the least she could do was say something, instead of fleeing without a word. But what could she say?

"Thank you." It seemed odd, but it was really what she was feeling. He was right, she had needed that.

"Wasn't a chore, darling. Not even a bit." He touched her cheek – with the hand that had _not_ been between her legs, she noticed – and smiled. She was struck with how tender his expression was. And before she even had time to think about why or what it would mean, she leaned forward and kissed him.

It was soft and gentle, just like a first kiss ought to be. Incredibly chaste, considering what had just happened between them. And it felt perfect, at least for the few seconds before it really hit Gillian what was going on, and she pulled away. But she caught a look on his face: eyes closed for just a moment too long, eyebrows pulled together for a fraction of a second – sadness. Sadness, and a terrifying, bottomless longing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

And turned and left.


	2. Chapter 2

So this, dear reader, would be a lesson in, "be careful what you wish for."

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><p>It had been months. Months since the night Gillian had sat in Cal's office and begged him to make her come. And nothing.<p>

Not a word, not a single damn look which hinted that he remembered what had happened. Which, of course, had been the idea.

So why was she so agitated? She had been expecting, even counting on him to mention it the first time things got heated between them again, to use it as leverage the next time they fought. But nothing.

Why did that bother her? Maybe because if he had gone back on his word, she could blame him for the entire event, be angry, and stop feeling so guilty. Stop feeling like she had broken his heart. She hadn't. No way. He didn't love her. If he did, he wouldn't have jumped into bed with a slutty poker player he'd only known for twelve hours.

But she had seen the look on his face. She had seen pain, so much it took her breath away. And the one thing she could always count on was that when Cal got hurt, he'd lash out. She had banked on him lashing out at her, so she could throw it back in his face, that he'd lied, that he'd manipulated her, that he'd preyed upon her while she was vulnerable. And she could feel justified in pushing him away. But instead he was playing the martyr, and it was pissing her off.

And the worst part was, even after months of nothing, it wouldn't go away. The things he made her feel, the good and the bad, none of it would go away. It was all so extreme – the bad, namely the things she was feeling now, was terrible. But, on the other hand, the good… she couldn't get it out of her head. Even the tiniest thing, like the feel of his stubble scraping her skin, was stark and clear in her mind. It was tormenting her.

Being with him at work was bad enough, seeing and smelling him, having to pretend like every little thing didn't remind her of having his hand between her legs, telling her how badly he wanted her. Trying not to imagine him, true to his word, pleasuring himself with her name on his lips.

Being in bed alone was even worse, unable to stop fantasies of a different end to the night, one where he had grabbed her and pushed her down onto the couch. One where they were both naked, one where the pleasure had been shared, instead of something taken. One where she had gotten to see the look on his face as he came inside her.

But the worst, the absolute worst, was when she was in bed with Dave. The last place on earth she should be thinking of Cal, and he was the only thing she could see. Dave had tried to finger her once, and she had pushed his hand away after only a few minutes, pretending to be eager for other things. The truth was not that she wanted to avoid comparing them mentally; that was unavoidable. She compared them with every breath, every touch, every sound, and almost always to Dave's disadvantage. But she had pushed him away because, as ashamed as she was to admit it to herself, she didn't want Dave to spoil her memory of her moment with Cal. She didn't even know it until then, but she treasured that night.

Cal had made her feel wanted, more wanted than she had ever felt in ten years of marriage, in two decades of sexual activity. And the thing that scared Gillian the most was how badly she wanted to feel that again. It was addicting.

There were times when Gillian wondered if she really didn't want to be with Cal. Times when all she wanted in the world was to kiss him, to be in his arms, to hear him tell her how he loved her. An honest-to-goodness relationship. But then Cal would do something, say something that reminded her how screwed up he was, how awful he could be, how he pushed away everyone and everything. And she would know that it couldn't work. If she got involved with Cal, at one point or another he'd push her away, and then she'd have no one. At least the way things were now, when other men hurt her, she had him.

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><p>Gillian walked into his office that night, and in an instant, he read grief, resignation, and embarrassment. "You went back to his place," Cal said. She looked down.<p>

"Yeah."

"And he was gone?"

"Like he had never been at all."

"I'm sorry, darling." He drew her into his arms, and although she accepted the hug, he didn't miss the slightest hesitation in her movement before she did. She hadn't forgotten what he said, then, about wanting her. But she had turned up here anyway. What did that mean? He turned away from her, saying, "Can I get you a drink, love?"

"Cal, look at me." He knew that was code for, 'Read my face, because there's something I can't say out loud.' So he did. He looked her over, and what he saw was a veritable war of emotions. Shame, desperation, sadness, yearning, and, most importantly, desire. And he put it all together, saw exactly what she had wanted him to see, which was that she was vulnerable, and in pain, and that the need he had satisfied in her four months ago had resurfaced with an angry vengeance. In fact, the arousal on her face was so intense that he wondered if he had really satisfied anything in the first place.

"Why are you here?"

"You know why," she said, desperate, and yet ashamed of her desperation.

"I do, I just want to hear you say it." His voice was so full of confidence, of hubris, Gillian nearly exploded.

"What do you want me to say, Cal? That I want you? That fifteen minutes in your arms ruined my sex life? That I feel guilty, because I'm not willing to give this a real shot, but all I want right now, all I've wanted for months is for you to touch me again? That sometimes I hate you for what you've done to me? Well it's all true. Look, I shouldn't have come here, I'll just go."

She turned and made for the door, so furious with herself and with him she wasn't even aware of him advancing on her until he had her pinned against a wall.

"Let me go."

"You don't really want me to do that." His eyes were boring into hers, and the look on his face was not kind. This was so different than the first time; he had her pinned with his gaze and his body, and by the look on his face he had no intention of being playful. She put her hands on his chest, but he grabbed both her wrists and pushed them against the wall by her head. Her breathing sped up. Yes, this was different, but it was exciting. His eyes narrowed until he was almost glaring at her. Quickly he put both her wrists in one hand and jerked them up over her head, while the other hand dropped to her hip.

"Tell me to stop one more time and I will," he said, and she felt a swell of emotion in her chest, that he was still trying to be considerate, even as they were staring each other down with what could almost be dubbed hostility. Unwilling to beg again, she just shook her head.

He yanked her skirt up, dropped his hand into her underwear, and pushed two fingers into her without so much as a pause. The noise that came out of her mouth was almost like a sob. Finally. Finally, she had what she had been denying herself for months. She couldn't stop her hips from jerking, bucking against his hand. And he wasn't done.

"Tell me how I ruined your sex life." It wasn't a request.

"You- ah! You want to hear about that now?"

"When else are you likely to give me the whole truth? Don't you dare hold a thing back."

"He wasn't as good as you. Nobody's ever been as good as you." Her words came in short bursts, between gasps and moans.

"Who?" he asked, with a particularly rough thrust of his fingers. "Say his name."

"Dave."

"Fuckin' Dave. Didn't do it for you, did he? Didn't know how to please you. Couldn't make you scream."

"No," she gasped.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"I used to imagine he was you." She knew she was feeding his already insufferable ego, knew that was exactly what he wanted. And she couldn't bring herself to care. At this point she'd do or say anything as long as he kept touching her.

"Yeah?"

"I used to – oh, fuck – I used to tell him not to talk while we were in bed, so I could close my eyes and pretend he was you."

"Yeah? Is that what you think I'd be like in the sack? Like bloody Captain America?" He sounded angry, but she could tell he was excited, that what she was saying was turning him on.

"No," she breathed out. "He was sweet and gentle. And boring."

Something odd passed over Cal's face, and suddenly he didn't look angry anymore.

"I could be sweet and gentle," he said softly.

"I don't want you to be," she said, grinding her pelvis into his hand, willing him to return to the intensity they were feeling before.

"Don't you?" he asked. "But you were with Dave. You were with him, no matter what the sex was like."

"Cal, do we have to have this conversation with your hand between my legs?"

"Apparently so, love, since I haven't had a shred of honesty out of you in months."

"Yes, I was with Dave. There's more to a relationship than sex, Cal."

"Like what? What did you see in him?"

"He was… normal. Regular job, regular problems. Well-adjusted and emotionally healthy. And between you and Alec, I'd had enough of screwed up to last a lifetime."

"Did he make you happy?"

"Yes. Not wildly, passionately happy. But he made me happy."

"And I don't." It wasn't a question this time. She wanted to reach out and touch him again, but he still had her wrists pinned.

"You do sometimes," she said. "On occasion, you make me so wildly and passionately happy that I want to shout it to the world. And not just when you do this for me."

"But other times…" he trailed off, wanting her to complete the sentence.

"Other times you make me furious. Our highs may be high, Cal, but our lows are so damn low… Dave might never have touched me like you do, but he never hurt me like you have either. Not until today."

Cal looked sadder that Gillian had ever seen him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Me too," she replied. She looked at the ceiling, trying not to cry. It was amazing how fast this had all went wrong. "Look," she said, "I know I've upset you; you don't have to keep-" she started, but he interrupted her.

"Like hell," he said harshly, looking into her eyes with renewed fire, his fingers working magic inside of her. "Look, I know I've disappointed you, love: professionally, personally, and I can't promise not to do it again. But there is one way that I will never, ever disappoint, and that is right here. No matter how much more of this you choose to give me, I will take it, gladly, and I will give you back absolutely everything I have to give. If you wanted to walk away from our business and our friendship and everything we've built together, and still come back into my office every night for this, I'd give it to you, and I wouldn't ask for anything else."

Now she really was crying. "Why?" she asked, desperate to hear the answer.

"Because I love you."

He let out a shaky breath, his voice cracking with emotion. For her part, tears were streaming down her face, her was mouth open, and strange combination of sobs and noises of pleasure were escaping her throat. The eye contact between them was so intense it was almost painful. "I love you, Gillian Foster, and I don't even deserve to be near you, much less to touch you. So as long as you let me, I'll be damned if I let it go to waste."

"Cal," she whispered, "let go of my hands."

The second he did, she brought them down, knocking his other hand away from her as she went for his belt buckle. Before he could react, she was on her knees in front of him, hands unzipping his pants and pulling him out.

Cal nearly shouted, both from shock and the sensation of Gillian's small, beautiful hands wrapped around him. He fell forward, catching himself with both hands on the wall.

She stroked him up and down, looking him in the eye and watching as she rubbed her thumb over the tip of his erection. "Cal Lightman," she said, feeling an enthralling sense of power as his face contorted, "you are the most brilliant man I've ever met. You've got more integrity in your little finger than most people have in their whole body. You're determined and passionate and you care so much, and you're such a good person."

He chuckled. "Clearly you haven't been talking to anyone else in this establishment."

"I don't need to," she said. "Because I know you. And I love you. And you absolutely deserve this." And with that, she took his cock into her mouth.

Cal yelled. Really _yelled_. He threw his head back, breathing erratically, as her head bobbed up and down, tongue working over him. His hand came down to fist in her hair, and she quickly learned what he liked from the way his grip tightened sporadically. He bit his lip, exhaling a long 'f', though if he planned to follow it up with 'fuck' or 'Foster' she didn't know. In that moment, she pushed forward, taking as much of him as she could into her mouth, so that her gag reflex made her throat muscles convulse around the head of his cock.

"Fuck, Gillian," he moaned. Unable to keep that up for long, she pulled away from him and took a few deep breaths. He used the opportunity to grab her arm and pull her up to a standing position again.

"No," he said fiercely. "The only way I come is if you come with me."

She didn't know it until just then, but that was exactly what she wanted to hear. Never breaking eye contact, she reached around to her side and pulled the zipper on her dress down, then let the dress pool around her feet. She could see Cal try and fail to keep looking at her face, unable to resist his instincts to take in her nearly bare body. She didn't mind. She loved what she saw in his eyes, a hunger that made her feel unbelievably powerful and beautiful.

She took a step toward him and took his hands in hers, moving them to her waist. He gripped her, gently at first, then harder, pushing her back against the wall and pressing his body into hers, his cock still hard and brushing against her thighs. He met her eyes again, looking so determined that she definitely wasn't prepared for what he was about to say.

"Alright, now, there's two ways this can go. You look me in the eye and tell me you still aren't willing to give us a shot, and then I fuck you raw against this wall, and afterwards we'll try to pretend like it didn't mean anything and get on with our lives until the next time you get an itch you can't scratch." She gave a little gulp, somehow simultaneously upset and turned on by his words. She held her breath, knowing what the other option must be. "Or, you tell me you want to be with me, Gillian, and I'll make love to you, however you'd like, and then we try. We really, truly try." There was a pregnant pause, while his eyes searched her face. "No secret which one I want you to pick," he murmured.

Heart racing with anxiety, frantically grasping for her reason, Gillian opened her mouth to answer.

* * *

><p>Yes or no? Your choice! If you think she should say no, go on to chapter three. If not, skip to chapter four.<p> 


	3. No

So, I like a bit o' fluff as much as the next person, but truly, this is what I really feel like the story needs.

* * *

><p><strong><span>No<span>**

Gillian opened her mouth to answer, and the words just wouldn't come. She had too much to lose. Cal saw it in her face before she responded, he saw the decision she'd made. Closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to see his reaction, she shook her head.

"Fine," he said in rough voice. And he pulled off her underwear and picked one of her legs up around his waist, slamming into her without another word.

"Fuck!" they said together, her head falling back against the wall and his falling onto her shoulder. He thrust into her again and again, his mouth laving the skin at her neck. Nothing had ever felt so good.

"Fuck, Foster. You're so bloody tight. You feel so fucking good. Is this what you wanted?" he asked. "All those nights you were in that wanker's bed, is this what you wanted?" He pounded into her, absolutely relentless. Not even bothering to take off her bra, he just pushed it up over her breasts and took one in his hand, rolling her nipple in his rough fingers. Her answer came out as a moan.

"Yes. What about you?" she asked, because part of her was still angry at Cal. "When you were in bed with Clara, were you thinking of me?"

"I think about you all the time, Gill. Constantly. Especially when my cock's hard."

"And is this everything you imagined?"

"Almost. And anyway, that was meaningless."

"So is this," Gillian whispered. Cal's movement came to a screeching halt.

"That's a lie," he spat. "Now, you can say whatever you want about this tomorrow. Say it never happened, say it was a mistake, say you didn't feel anything. But you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me tonight. So don't you dare try to tell me this is meaningless. Save the lies for after, but don't belittle this while we're doing it."

She looked away, trying to escape the depth of emotion in his face. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, love," he said. "Be honest." And his hand dropped to her other leg, bracing her so she could wrap both of them around his waist. Her hands clawed for purchase on his back as he started thrusting into her again. He still had on his shirt, so she pulled it up high enough to get her hands underneath, sinking her nails into his shoulders.

They were both frantic now, such long pent up emotions boiling over. He could feel that he was close, even after such a short time. It was Gillian, for god's sake. It was all he had ever wanted, and all pain aside, it was just exquisite. He picked his head up, watching his face as he shifted her, looking for that perfect angle that would make her see stars. He didn't even need his gifts; when he found it her spine snapped back so hard he was afraid she'd hurt herself.

"Cal!" she moaned. "Cal, I'm so close…"

"So'm I, darling, just let it go. Come on, Gillian. I want to watch your face when you come all over my cock." It was his words, the ragged uncontrolled edge to his voice that sent her over. She screamed, exactly like she had months earlier, screamed and threw her head back as a mind-blowing orgasm shot through her, making all her muscles shake.

The look on her face was all Cal needed, and he was undone too, burying his face in her neck and biting down on the tender flesh there. He knew he was leaving a mark on her, and was glad of it. She might not have been his, but this way he could pretend, at least for a minute. One last thrust and he emptied inside of her, crying out.

They sank to the floor together, neither of them ready to support their own weight. Cal rested his head on her chest, their arms still around each other as they panted, both of them savoring a bittersweet closeness. In far too short a time, the glaze had worn off, and Gillian shifted under his weight. He moved away from her, both of them sticky with sweat as she pulled her bra back down over her breasts and looked around for her underwear. They both avoided looking at each other as Cal stood up, readjusting his shirt and pulling his pants back up. When he was suitably clothed, he held a hand out to her to pull her up too. Still unsteady, she leaned forward into him, and he caught her. He was hurt to see how quickly she pushed away from him, shame all over her face. Shame that tore him up inside too. She turned around, grabbing her dress and pulling it back on, zipping it up hastily.

She picked up her shoes, and was on her way out the door, when Cal called after her. He just couldn't stand to leave it like this.

"Gillian." He was afraid she wouldn't stop, but she did. She stopped, and turned around, and even met his eyes for a second. "I've just got one more thing to ask," he went on. "One more little bit of honesty. You owe me that."

Now she turned squarely to face him. Not backing away, not denying that she did owe him anything he wanted to ask.

"Why? Why are you walking away from this? And don't give me that bollocks about being scared of losing me or my friendship, because I know there's something else. I can see it all over your face."

"Honestly, Cal? It's not you I'm afraid to lose. It's me. I see that look in your eyes and I just know that I could lose myself in you without even thinking. That you could just consume me. You're already my best friend, and my business partner. If I let you into my bed and into my heart, there'll be nothing left of me that isn't you. Without me you'd still have Emily, and your science, and this firm. If I let you into my heart like that and it didn't work out—and I'm sure it wouldn't work out, Cal—then when it was over I'd be left with nothing. And I'm terrified of that."

He could think of nothing to say to this. Instead, he just stared at her, that long, intense stare that she was always afraid to break. But she couldn't let him keep her trapped there like that, so finally she turned away and began walking out the door.

"You're using me, you know," he called after her. This time she didn't turn to face him, but he could still see the regret and shame in her body language.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Until next time, then, love," he said with a flippancy he didn't feel at all.

Gillian turned back when she got to the door, and the look she gave him was one of pity, forced pity covering up deep shame. "There won't be a next time," she said, and shut the door. Cal reached down behind his desk, his fingers closing around a small scrap of black cotton.

"Liar," he said scornfully, and stuffed her panties into his pocket.

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><p>Too depressing? On to chapter four!<p> 


	4. Yes

Just because I love you, reader, here's the fluff you wanted. This is an _alternate_ to chapter three, they are not in succession.

Also, there's a bit of dialogue in here stolen from another TV show that I love, and if you catch it, you get a cookie.

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><p><strong><span>Yes<span>**

Gillian opened her mouth to answer, and decided that she didn't need words. Instead she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him to her, meeting his lips in their first real, honest kiss.

It was electric. Her tongue snaked out to lick his lip, then pushed into his mouth. He responded with a moan, pushing his body up against hers until she was nearly crushed between him and the wall. Her fingers ran through his hair, and she gasped as his lips moved away from hers, down to her jaw and throat. His hands moved to cradle her face as he went back to kissing her, and they just couldn't get close enough.

Suddenly she found herself frustrated by the fact that he was still mostly dressed, and she reached down to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head.

"You know," he said as he nipped and sucked on her neck, "if I were any kind of gentleman, I'd take you home. Do this properly—some wine, a bed—"

"Unless you can get me there in the next thirty seconds, I think it'll have to wait."

He looked into her eyes and grinned. "Eager?"

She smiled back a mischievous smirk as she put a hand on his chest and pushed him backwards, gently, until he collapsed onto the couch. "You have no idea," she murmured, straddling his lap and leaning down again to capture his lips.

He slid his hands up her back until he found the clasp of her bra. When he had gotten the thing off of her, he sat back, looking her up and down. She tried to lean forward to kiss him again, but his hands on her ribcage kept her firmly where she was.

"Cal…" she moaned, impatient for things to move forward.

"Hold on a moment, love," he drawled, his eyes raking up and down her body with a mixture of adoration and lust. "This here's a spectacle that might warrant a moment's consideration. Gillian Foster, in nothing but her knickers. It's a sight for sore eyes if ever I saw one. I could stare at it all day."

"I was hoping you'd do a bit more than stare."

"Yeah, good point, that," he replied, and he shifted her sideways so she was lying on the couch and he was on top of her. He divested both of them of the rest of their clothes quickly, and his hand found the crook of her knee, pulling it up so he could settle between her thighs.

He looked her in the eyes again, and his expression took her breath away. _Speaking of things you could stare at forever_, she thought. She'd never get tired of the love in his eyes, no longer muted or masked or laughed off as nothing. And she knew her face mirrored his perfectly.

"I love you," she said.

"I know," he replied with a cheeky grin. She giggled, and smacked him on the arm. "Oh, right! Sorry. Of course, what I meant was, I love you too."

"I know," she whispered, and they kissed again as he slipped inside of her for the first time. He moaned into her mouth as he rocked in and out of her.

"Christ, Gill," he muttered. He couldn't keep his hands still, wanting to feel every inch of her, amazed by how soft and delicious her skin was.

Gillian wrapped her legs around his back, desperate to be as close as possible, rocking her hips in time with him. She scraped her nails lightly over his shoulders, and smiled when she felt a shudder race through him. Then a similar shudder raced through her when his fingers suddenly found her breast, making circles around a nipple in time to their thrusts.

Cal's mouth found her neck again, which she noticed was beginning to be quite a thing with him. Not that she minded, of course. She heard him mumble something against her skin, but she couldn't quite make it out.

"What?"

"I said, you're mine," he answered, pulling his head up to meet her eyes again. Her breath quickened in one gallop at his possessiveness. She had no idea she would have found it so arousing.

"Yes," she breathed. Because it was true. With this last concession, she truly belonged to him. His eyes darkened.

"Say it." The words were a demand, but his tone was uncertain.

"I'm yours." The speed of his thrusts picked up, and she arched into him. "Body and soul, Cal. I'm yours."

He cried out, his calm dissolving into frenzy. "Darling," he panted, "I can't—I'm almost…" She squeezed him tight with her legs and dug her nails into his back as he thrust into her erratically, driving her to the edge.

"Me too," she said, gasping, so close it was driving her mad. Determined to make her come before he lost it, he reached between them and found her clit, touched her exactly how he had learned she liked it. It was all she needed, moaning and arching her back underneath him. Her internal muscles clenched him as her climax flowed through her, and the sensation was enough to send him over as well, coming inside her with a few quick thrusts.

They lay there together on the couch for a long time, Cal with his head on her chest, listening as her heart rate returned to normal. Her fingers were running slowly up and down his spine, leaving goosebumps as they went.

"That was…" Gillian started, but couldn't find words with enough magnitude to complete the sentence.

"Bloody brilliant," he finished, and both of them chuckled.

"For starters, yeah." There was another long pause between them, savoring the moment.

"So what comes next?" he asked.

"What do you want to come next?" she responded, genuinely curious.

"Well," he started, shifting off of her to lie on his side, still holding her in his arms, "I want… just, the whole bloody package, love. Holding you in my arms whenever I want, lazy Sunday mornings, breakfast in bed, domestic sodding bliss. The rest of my life with you." He saw the hesitation in her face. "But if that's too much, too fast…"

"It sounds wonderful," she said. "And I'm ready to give it a shot, but…" she trailed off.

"Look, I'll have you know, this is it for me. This is all I want, and I don't fancy the idea of mucking it up. So you tell me what I need to do, and I'll do it." She smiled, and snuggled into him, glad that it was such a big couch that they could lie on it side by side. Just as she closed her eyes, he said, "No, that wasn't rhetorical. I'm serious. Tell me what I have to do to make this work."

Gillian had rarely heard him so earnest, and she opened her eyes to see the look on his face. He was waiting, practically with baited breath, to hear what she would say. This was new, she thought to herself. Since when did Cal Lightman care more about people's words than what he could read on their faces?

"Well, you have to know that being with you isn't like being with other men."

"You saying I'm special?" he asked with a goofy grin.

"Cal, you're practically a mind-reader sometimes. Which might sound good on paper, but…"

"But you saw what happened to my marriage."

She hadn't really meant to bring it up, but that was exactly what Gillian had been thinking. Which, of course, only reinforced the point. She nodded.

"So, do you want to keep the line there? I ignore the things I see, unless you bring them up?"

"No, you don't have to do that anymore." She felt Cal release a breath. "My feelings are your business now, where they weren't necessarily before."

"I like the sound of that," he said with a smile. "So, what do you want, then?"

"I want… I want it to be fair."

"You want me to let you know what I'm feeling."

"Not constantly," she said hastily. She knew that would be asking too much of him, to ask him to become an open, sharing person. "But when I ask, you can't brush me off anymore, okay?"

"Okay. I think I can manage that. Do you want to know how I'm feeling now?"

"Of course. Anything you want to share with me, you're always free to do that. Now moreso than ever."

"Ever the shrink, eh, love? Well, aside from being completely, ecstatically happy to have you in my arms, I'm terrified." She looked at him with surprise, not expecting such open honesty out of him so quickly. Maybe they could do this, after all.

"Go on."

"Well, all the women in my life leave me. My mother, my wife, even Emily's going off to school 3000 miles away. And I'm scared you're going to do the same. I'm worried I'll mess it up, and you'll leave me. And I think that might just kill me, Gill."

Gillian's heart swelled with emotion. She was struck with the desperate need to reassure him, to take away his fears, now that she knew he was feeling them. She snuggled close to him, reaching up to the back of the couch to pull down the blanket folded there. As he helped her spread it over them, she said, "Cal, think of all the crazy stunts you've pulled over the last ten years. If none of that was enough to scare me away, what more do you think you can do?"

He chuckled. "You've got a point there, love." Then he sobered. He held her close, and as both of them began to drift off, she heard him speak again, barely audible.

"And just for the record, I'm yours too."

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><p>There. Lovely, mushing ending. You're welcome.<p> 


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